


Black Hole In My Mind

by allylikethecat



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blood, Dark, M/M, Miscarriage, Not A Happy Ending, READ THE AUTHORS NOTES AND WARNINGS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:13:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7925488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allylikethecat/pseuds/allylikethecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The metallic smell of blood suddenly reached his nose, the sudden influx of panic cutting swiftly through the fog of pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Hole In My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of these characters/people, nothing that happens in this is real, it’s all fake.
> 
> Big thank you to talkingraccoon who was awesome enough to beta this, and convince me to actually post it. 
> 
> Title from "Garden" by Halsey 
> 
> WARNING:  
> This story contains blood, miscarriage, and emotional turmoil following a miscarriage. For more detail regarding possible spoiler containing triggers, see the end notes. 
> 
> Overall, this is a dark fic, and the ending is not a happy one. Therefore, if there is any concern for the content of this fic, I highly encourage reading the end note.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I know this is darker than I usually write, let me know what you think!

Tyler whimpered softly and twisted, curling himself into a tighter ball. A cramp tore its way through his abdomen and he bit his lip to stifle another sound. He flailed out, uncurling his limbs, trying to find some semblance of relief. He tossed and turned before freezing his movements; he didn’t want to wake up Jamie.

He had downed two Percocet after the game and crawled into bed. Tyler’s body ached from the game, he was exhausted and didn’t want the stomach cramps he was currently experiencing to keep him awake. He was lucky he had the Percocet left over from surgery earlier that season. 

The metallic smell of blood suddenly reached his nose, the sudden influx of panic cutting swiftly through the fog of pain. The sheets were slick as he kicked them away from his legs; sweat rolled down his bare back, and beaded along his hairline as he panted.

Tyler’s stomach rolled, he gagged and leaned over the side of the bed, bile burning his throat as he heaved. Jamie stirred, and Tyler groaned trying again to curl tighter into himself, he was desperate for relief. Pain ripped through his belly as if someone was trying to tear out his spleen.

"Tyler?" Jamie asked, his voice thick with sleep. There was a rustling sound as he groped around for the lamp switch.

Tyler squinted as the room was bathed in light, his eyes feeling even more sensitive to the change than usual. He moaned again as another cramp squeezed his stomach like a vice.

"Tyler!" Jamie shouted, panic coloring his voice.

"It hurts," Tyler whimpered, pressing his palms flat against the defined ridges of his abdomen as he squirmed.

"Oh my god," Jamie whispered, taking in the sight of the blood, bright and crimson staining the sheets and smeared across Tyler's mostly bare body, his black boxer briefs soaked with it.

Jamie stumbled out of bed, he wanted to call an ambulance, but Tyler hated ambulances, they sent him into even further distress. There was so much blood and he didn't know where it was coming from. Jamie’s heart was racing, his breathing erratic. There was so much blood. Flashes of Tyler’s body cold and unmoving danced before his eyes. Tyler needed help.

Tyler was sobbing now as Jamie shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers. He ran into the bathroom and grabbed a pile of towels.

"Tyler, Tyler, I'm going to take you to the hospital okay, Tyler?" Jamie asked, trying to get Tyler to sit up. He moved the blankets away from Tyler's lap, the sheets sticking to the blood on his skin as Jamie tried to wipe the red that had been smeared along his chest and thighs from his thrashing.

"Hurts J," Tyler sobbed, his eyes unfocused and feverish. Jamie pulled him into a standing position, grabbing one of his own tee shirts off the floor. It was loose on Jamie, and even bigger on Tyler, the fabric hanging off his lean frame, the ripped out neckline showing off Tyler's defined collarbone. He was careful to avoid stepping in the puddle of vomit on the floor as he guided Tyler. 

He wrapped the blanket at the end of their bed around Tyler's shoulders and half carried him, half dragged him down the stairs and to the garage. Jamie was thankful that Marshall and Cash kept their distance, whining in distress, but seeming to know that approaching would be the wrong course of action.

Tyler continued to sob. Jamie gripped him tightly, his skin hot to the touch. He was nearly doubled over, his arms wrapped around himself and holding his belly. His tears settling into the coarse hairs of his beard, Tyler was trying to even out his breathing, but instead it came out in uneven gasps. 

Jamie spread a towel over the tan leather of the car and helped Tyler sit down in the passenger seat. He pulled his knees up to his chest, his bare toes curled in pain. Jamie dumped a pair of flip-flops onto the floor of the car and they hit the rubber mat with a thud smack and Jamie winced, the sound startling him out of the daze he was in. He walked around to the drivers side of the car, his heart racing as Tyler hiccupped. There was so much blood. There was too much blood. Jamie couldn’t think of any reason for there to be so much blood. 

Jamie barely remembered the drive, just the headlights cutting through the dark back roads, and Tyler's broken whimpers.

The second the car was in park, Tyler flung open the car door; he leaned out the side and threw up on the pavement. Jamie winced and cut the engine, reaching across the center console to rub Tyler's back as he was sick, muttering nonsense that he hoped came across as comforting.

He wracked his brain for the hundredth time, trying to come up with an explanation for the blood, for the fever, but could find none. His heart felt like it was trying to beat out of his chest as he helped Tyler through the doors of the emergency room. The woman at the desk didn't even ask their names before Tyler was helped onto a stretcher and then being whisked away.

Jamie was left standing in the middle of the emergency room waiting room, Tyler's blood drying on his skin. He filled out a clipboard with shaking hands, the sweat from his palms smudging the ink. He filled out Tyler’s name and date of birth, allergies, and medical conditions before handing it back to the receptionist. He listed himself as the emergency contact. He wondered if he should call Tyler’s parents. 

The receptionist took pity on him, and led him to a single stall bathroom to wash up after realizing that the admittance paperwork was now stained red. She handed him a scrub top, Jamie looked down and realized there was a bloody handprint on his chest. He swallowed hard and took the pale blue top. He was directed to the waiting area, and sat down on one of the hard plastic chairs. 

He felt numb, worry making him feel nauseous. He wondered if he should call someone, anyone. But he didn’t even know whom he would call. There was a clock on the wall, and Jamie tried to time his breath to each tick. It was three thirty in the morning. Even if he wanted to call someone, he couldn’t. He had forgotten his phone in the scramble. 

He tried to curl himself into the unforgiving chair, but finding a position that was comfortable was impossible. He knew that he was a large man, towering and wide, built with coiled strength and power. But now he felt helpless, powerless and weak. He couldn’t help Tyler. He didn’t know what was wrong, and even if he did, he knew there was nothing he would have been able to do to help. 

The not knowing, the fear, the stress, the worry was brutal. The TV blared dully in the background, the sound fuzzy to Jamie’s ears. He was alone in the waiting room, for which he was grateful. He didn’t think he could handle small talk with a stranger. 

Jamie didn’t know how long had passed, he just continued to stare blankly at the wall in front of him; there was a water stain that looked almost like a dog. Tyler would have smiled and said that it looked like Cash. He tried to time his breathing with the ticking of the clock on the wall. It was cruel that they kept such a loud timekeeping device in the waiting room of a hospital. Time always seemed to crawl slower there.

Hours passed, before the door opened to the waiting room. The sun high in the sky and shining cheerfully into the waiting room, Jamie wanted the sun to go away. This was not a cheerful place. He looked up at the opened door and an older woman approached him, holding a clipboard, her gray ponytail long and high, swinging around her shoulders as she moved. Jamie squinted, trying to read the nametag fastened to her white doctor’s coat, but she was too far away. 

His heart thudded heavily in his chest when she sat down next to him. Jamie hoped that she brought good news. 

***

Tyler looked small, too small, thought Jamie as he quietly entered the hospital room. Tyler was lying on his side, his legs bent halfway curled to his chest. He had a pillow between his knees, keeping his hips open. 

He looked up when he heard the door click shut, his eyes were unfocused and his skin waxy pale. His head dropped back down to the pillow, too weak to keep in raised. He was hooked up to a variety of machines. Jamie didn’t know what they did, but they continued to beep and whirl. Jamie knew that they didn’t have long before a nurse would come in to give Tyler another blood transfusion. 

“Hey,” Tyler croaked, his voice rough. Jamie took this as permission to move deeper into the room until he was hovering near his shoulder. He wanted to reach out, to run his fingers through Tyler’s hair, to trace the slope of his cheek, to grab his hand and never let go. But Jamie didn’t know if he was allowed to. 

Tyler shifted, then winced, one of his hands falling down to drape over his stomach. His eyes were unfocused and glassy as he tried to meet Jamie’s gaze. 

“Hey,” Jamie mimicked and then mentally swore at the way Tyler’s face dropped. He cleared his throat, “how are you feeling?” he asked. 

“Fine,” he mumbled, looking away from Jamie. Jamie bit his lip; he could feel tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He tried to blink them away. 

“Fine?” he repeated harsher than he meant to. “How can you be fine? You just had a miscarriage.” 

Tyler flinched back and squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing suddenly labored. Jamie’s heart jumped into his throat and he was quick to apologize, but Tyler didn’t give him the chance. 

“What did you want me to say?” he asked, his words angry despite the slight slur painting the syllables together. “I know I had a miscarriage, I was the one bleeding the thing out, I was also the one that had to have it scraped out of my uterus because I can’t even fucking miscarriage right.” Tyler was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as if he had just played a four-minute shift, one of the machines next to him started to beep frantically but Tyler wasn’t done. “So, I’m fine as I can be right now, if you’re going to be a dick you can just leave,” Tyler spat. 

Jamie opened his mouth, but the “I’m sorry” died on the tip of his tongue. Tyler was trembling, and Jamie reached out, wanting to comfort him but Tyler knocked his hand away. 

“If you’re going to patronize me just leave!” Tyler growled, and Jamie swallowed hard but didn’t move. “I told you to leave!” Tyler shouted again, his eyes filling with tears. Jamie nodded and backed out of the room. 

***

Tyler was seven weeks pregnant and suffered an incomplete miscarriage. He hadn’t known he was pregnant. He was rushed into surgery, a D&C was performed, but he had already begun to hemorrhage. He received two blood transfusions, trying to make up for what was lost. He told the front office that he had had appendicitis, and was back playing within two weeks.

Jamie threw away the bloody bedding and towels. Tyler still wasn’t speaking to him.  
Tyler was sleeping in their guest room. They moved through the house like a pair of ghosts, only interacting on the ice, and only when they absolutely had to. Sleeping in their room by himself felt wrong, sleeping in the room at all when he was woken up by nightmares of finding Tyler dead and covered in his own blood was too hard. 

When they got back from a two-day road trip, Jamie drove to a hotel downtown instead of following Tyler back to their house. He needed to start looking for an apartment soon. Tyler didn’t comment that Jamie hadn’t gone home the night before at practice the next morning. Jamie didn’t know why he expected him to. 

Tyler was drinking again, partying with the rookies, stumbling home drunk at three thirty in the morning. His picture was plastered all over Deadspin, his eyes unfocused and his face flushed. He was always alone in the pictures. Jamie didn’t know if it was better or worse that Tyler always went home alone. 

Jamie started going to a support group, talking to other fathers whose partners had suffered a miscarriage. Everyone mourned differently, he knew that, but sometimes it didn’t seem like Tyler was mourning at all. Jamie said that once during a meeting, and Dennis, the counselor who led the group frowned at him. Jamie felt guilt bubble in his chest. He knew he wasn’t being fair to Tyler, he knew that he was hurting, but he knew that Tyler, consumed by his own grief and ill advised methods of dealing with things, hadn’t realized that Jamie was grieving too. 

Jamie missed Tyler. He missed his smile, his laugh, the way he would scrunch up his nose when he was pretending to be annoyed. Jamie missed tracing his tattoos as they fell asleep, Tyler tucked safely against his side. His missed bickering with him about letting Marshall and Cash up onto the bed. Tyler could never deny his dogs anything. Jamie missed the child they almost had together. The child neither of them new existed until they were already gone. 

***

Part of Jamie was surprised that Tyler hadn’t changed the locks when he let himself into their house. They had the Sunday off, so Jamie figured it would be the perfect time to sneak in and collect some more clothing. He was even more surprised that Marshall and Cash didn’t run to greet him as soon as he stepped through the doors, and wondered if he should announce himself to Tyler. His still technically co-owned the house, so he decided not to. It would be easier for both of them if their interactions were kept to a minimum. Maybe Tyler wasn’t even home. 

He walked into the master bedroom. The air was stale. He went into the closet and tossed a few pairs of jeans onto the bed. He followed them with a couple shirts, and a two more suits for game days. He walked back into the room and carefully folded the clothing, before placing them into a duffle bag. He scanned the room, trying to figure out if there was anything else he wanted to grab before he left again. 

He went into the bathroom, abstractly trying to remember if his favorite hoodie would still be hanging on the back of the door when he froze. The air in the bathroom was heavy, and smelt of sweat and vomit. Tyler was slouched fully clothed in the empty bathtub, an empty bottle of Svedka in his lap. His eyes were clothed and he had dried vomit on his face and chest. 

“Tyler?” Jamie asked, his heart beating heavily in his ears as he stepped towards the man he loved. “Tyler?” he said again, louder this time, his voice more frantic. “TYLER,” he shouted shaking the younger man’s shoulder roughly. But Tyler didn’t react; his body slumped to the side, dislodged from its position against the wall, no longer supporting itself. 

Jamie couldn’t get him to wake up. 

Tyler’s skin was cold.

**Author's Note:**

> ***SPOILERS AND WARNINGS***
> 
> This fic contains descriptions of blood, miscarriage, emotional turmoil, as well as an implied major character death. The possible cause of death is left to interpretation, but could possibly be perceived as a suicide.


End file.
